


Historica Post-Apocalyptica

by insominia



Category: Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 15:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: Individual one-shots set in historical AUsHancock on the High Seas, Piper confronting clockwork synths, Film noir Nick Valentine and a booze smuggling prohibition era Courier.I'll update tags as it goes along





	1. Hancock on the High Seas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally based on the prompt: I'm a sucker for a good old fashioned trashy romance, especially of the historical variety. They are my guiltiest of guilty pleasures. Bosoms heaving on the high seas? Regency comedies of manners? Hot jazz and prohibition-era intrigue? Gothic melodrama with lots of skeletons stuffed away in closets? Yes, please!
> 
> So, I'd love to see some Fallout characters and themes plunked into a historical period. I don't care about genre or style or pairing. Even historical accuracy is up in the air.
> 
> You can read the full thread with other offerings that I didn't write here: https://newfalloutkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1168.html?thread=279696#cmt279696
> 
> The first four chapters of this were written for the prompt, anything afterwards is just me running away with myself :)

Ostensibly Captain Hancock had been pouring over maps in his cabin, determining their next destination, when he heard the cry, " _wreck ahoy_!" In truth, he had barely begun to broil the questionable contents of his pipe, as the crew knew well enough, and he discarded it with a vicious snarl, throwing on his red coat and stomping his way on deck.   
  
Much of the crew had already gathered, lining the larboard deck, looking across the sea at what remained of their discovery.   
"Back to work with you!" Hancock shouted over their excited chatter, "Fahrenheit, what have you?!"   
  
His first mate, muscular despite her sex, was staring through a telescope. Wordlessly she handed him the glass, and the captain followed her gaze. 'Wreck' was indeed the word. Not just because of the way it bobbed in the ocean, held fast by some unseen shoals, but its age alone meant it would be considered decrepit even if it sailed. Hancock could just make out the name, worn and faded from what must have been years in the water; ' _Sanctuary_ '. They would have moved on had he not spied movement with his last glance. A quick flash he would have been forgiven for assuming was the sea, but the sea had never been  _that_ blue.   
  
"All hands, wear ship!" Hancock shouted, and beside him Fahrenheit jumped down, barking orders for the ship to slow. The Captain himself went over in the jolly boat, his hardened crew heaving against the lively sea. They found just the one survivor; a young woman in a blue dress. Lord knows how she had survived alone for so long, but with the wind freshening, there was little time to exchange pleasantries. She was heaved into the boat, with nary a 'how do you do,' and returned to the ship with them.

Hancock had let Daisy deal with her. That way he was assured the girl would be given a hot meal and fresh clothes away from the stares of the galley.   
He was surprised therefore to find her standing in his cabin, still in her blue dress, staring him down as though he had inconvenienced her with a rescue.   
  
"You will convey me to port, sir, at the first opportunity if you please. I cannot remain here," she had demanded.   
  
Captain Hancock could only stare, amused, but impressed. Few would have sought him out, fewer still would have presumed to speak to him so.   
  
"I'm afraid we will do no such thing," he replied, bemused. "I'm afraid the port authorities would greet us with a noose and I have far too much in spirits in my hold. T'would be a shame to die afore I could drink them."   
  
"Nevertheless  _sir_ , I shall not remain, you must put me ashore."  
  
"You are in no position to be making demands miss...?"  
  
"Nora."  
  
"Miss Nora. You are on the great ship Goodneighbor now and you would not be the first wayward soul to join our merry band, but I fear I cannot do as you ask. Now if you'll excuse me." He gestured for her to leave, but instead, she took a step towards him.  
  
" _Please,_ sir. I beg of you..."  
  
The Captain paused, taking in the desperation of her voice, the heaving of her breasts and catching a glint of the wedding ring nestled there on a chain. "What happened to your ship?"  
  
She sighed, "pirates. We were on an expedition to the frozen North, but we were attacked. There was no warning. The crew was killed...the passengers too..." her hand went to the ring at her bosom, "my husband died trying to protect our son... _my boy_." He could see her eyes shining with unspent tears. She took another step towards him. "They took my boy. The captain - with his voice as black as tar - I must find him. I  _will_ find him."  
  
The fire in her voice burned brighter than the candlelight. She was far too close to him, her lips just a breath from his. He was acutely aware of their proximity, but it could not be. He knew what he was.   
  
"I can't help you," he sighed, making to turn, but her hand was on his chin in a flash, turning his face back to her.   
  
"Daisy said they call you 'the ghoul'," she murmured, forcing him to look at her. She moved her hand to touch his cheek, his dry, scarred cheek, weathered from so many storms and brawls. He had charisma enough that most women could overlook his disfigurements, but it was still unusual to find someone so happy to dismiss it.   
  
Nora's fingers lightly danced across the scars and grooves, even tracing the gouge that had once been his nose. And then, throwing propriety to the wind, she leaned up and kissed him.   
  
It had been too long without companionship, for both of them, and Hancock returned her kiss, yielding to her desperate lips. Hardly a noise was made, save for the dry thud of his coat falling to the ground and the rustle of petticoats as he sought her legs, and other parts.   
  
They barely made it to his cot, their cries lost to the wind and rough seas. When suddenly all was still.   
  
Hancock woke late, still strewn across the cot, his coat still crumpled on the floor. At some point his hat had joined it, though he was sure he remembered Nora having it, perched on her head as she had ground herself against him. There was no sign of the girl now, only the remains of two lots of opiates on the table attested to her presence.   
  
He dressed and went on deck, noticing Fahrenheit was in a distinctly bad mood.   
  
"Where's-" he began, but his first mate cut him off.  
  
"Gone."  
  
"Gone?"  
  
Fahrenheit fixed him with a glare, "she made off with the jolly boat in the night. The devil knows how she snuck past us, but she's long gone by now."   
  
"Oh."   
  
Hancock stepped to the taffrail, staring out across the open waters, as though searching for a flash of blue. Despite it all, he smiled. If a jolly boat was the price for last night - it was a fair exchange.


	2. Monsters in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper vs McDonough in Industrial Britain

It was already dark when the mayor's  _secretary_ finally showed Miss Piper Wright into his office. Of course, the mayor was still not there to greet her, to expect otherwise would be to expect good manners. For a moment she was content to wait by the window, staring out across the city, watching the lamp lighters at work. All was silent within the room. She made a show of examining the mute grandfather clock, the paintings...at least until the secretary stepped outside, and then, abandoning all pretence, Piper started rifling through the papers on the mayor's desk. She need not have bothered. There was nothing incriminating, or even remotely so, to hand.   
  
She was still there when the mayor finally stepped in, but he seemed unsurprised to find her with her hands on his property.   
  
"Find anything?" he asked, almost cheerfully. Piper's retort was cut off as he continued, "nor would I expect you to, I keep all of my secret papers in my other desk."   
  
He chuckled at his own joke, but Piper could not bring herself to laugh. Now was not the time for levity.   
  
"I do apologise for keeping you, Miss Wright. Mayoral duties...you understand."  
  
"I understand perfectly Mayor McDonough," Piper replied, every syllable sliced from the air, "I understand that once again someone has gone missing from this town and you will do nothing about it."  
  
She might have expected him to be shocked by her accusations, but instead, he seemed to remain amused. "Yes indeed. I have read your...I hesitate to call it a newspaper, fanciful as it is. But surely you cannot truly think these things?"   
  
"I believe the stories from beyond the wall sir, yes. Of this  _institute_ that seeks to control us through fear..."   
  
"Ah yes of course!" the mayor sank into his chair, regarding her over clasped fingers, "the mysterious institute! The source of all these strange disappearances, and indeed, any wrongdoing at all!"  
  
Piper folded her arms and stared at him, coldly, "you have a better explanation?"   
  
"A better explanation than a mysterious organisation secreting away unsuspecting citizens in the middle of the night? I'm not sure, but given that this is an age of industry mayhap they have left to seek their living elsewhere."   
  
"Without telling anyone?"  
  
"Dear lady, they are calling this the Industrial Revolution! Commerce and enterprise are everywhere! The chance for a man to make a fortune through hard work and determination in any number of fields, hitherto unknown to us, is surely more interesting than anything our quaint city has to offer, fond of it though I am. And you must admit we hardly have the resources to chase up every runaway. Besides, they find their way home eventually."  
  
"But they aren't the same, sir!" Piper hissed, "I implore you, speak with the people, talk to the families, they all say anyone who leaves comes back changed."   
  
The mayor laughed, long and hard, "why of course they do, have you been to London town? It's enough to turn anyone's head."   
  
"That's not what I meant-"  
  
The mayor's hand came down sharply on his desk, "I know what you meant," he was suddenly cold and harsh, "but I shall not entertain your nonsensical tales of these "others", these artificial people, these  _synthetic men_ as you've termed them. I'm not sure what you expect me to do Miss Wright, but I assure you as mayor I have as much power against will-o-the-whisps and the creatures under your bed as I do against these...these  _clockwork men_."   
  
He was left breathless by his outburst, having slammed down his hand repeatedly to accentuate his points. The sound reverberated around them in the resultant silence. A silence broken only by the insistent ticking of the clock.   
  
"Now," he continued, calmer now, "if you please, I will hear no more talk of this  _institute_ or their fanciful creations. And I remind you, Miss Wright, that while runaways might be beyond my remit, expelling a lunatic madwoman certainly isn't, no matter how eloquently she commits her ravings to the page. Now if you will excuse me, madam, I bid you good night."   
  
Piper held his gaze for a moment longer, trying to decide whether it was worth risking him summoning the guard if she stood her ground. But then she turned from the room with a disgusted snarl, aware of the mayor's eyes upon her with every retreating step.   
  
He watched her go, and after the front door had slammed, he moved to the window and watched her stalk angrily into the night. He would have to have a word with his superiors. Their activities were drawing too much attention, maybe they should hold off for a time. Of course, they might suggest her removal, but that might raise too many questions. No, much better to discredit her than have her disappear. He paused as he turned back into the room. She wasn't a very  _good_ journalist however, the grandfather clock hadn't ticked for years...


	3. Looking for Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Valentine recounts his strangest case to date, film noir style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be a major character death.

It was raining. The kind of rain that made you think God himself was trying to wash away the scum. We should all be so lucky. Business was slow, the crooks round here had everyone too scared to ask for help, and I didn't work for free. I'd already sent Ellie home for the night, I was getting used to closing down on my own.   
  
She walked into my office looking like an angel on her way to choir practice. She didn't belong here and it didn't take long to find out she knew it too. "You Valentine?" she asked cigarette in her mouth but no light.   
I slid her a matchbook, "that's what it says on the door."   
  
Looking for her kid she said, with a husband on ice. Missing persons were two a penny these days. I took it on, something about that face I couldn't say no too. And it didn't bother her that I was more metal than man since the surgery. That kinda thing puts a lot of folks off.   
  
I tell ya, travelling with that doll was something else. She really was one of a kind. Like something out of time. This place hadn't got to her yet, not like it got to everyone else. Like it got to me.   
  
Nothing about the case made sense. She was looking for a baby, but the shyster who took him had a kid, not a baby, but it was the same kid. It was a real head-scratcher. The dame wouldn't give up though, and I tell ya something else, she didn't give up on anyone.   
  
This place could have chewed her up and spat her out before breakfast, but she wouldn't have it. She stood her ground, helping everyone and anyone who needed it. Didn't mean she wasn't tough though. When we finally caught up to the son of the bitch who did for her husband, she did for him. Blew him away like he was nothing, left the rest of him for the roaches.   
  
We traced her boy to some organisation working in the shadows. The Institute they called it. Nobody wanted to talk about it. Folks would sooner see us outta town than help as soon as they knew what we were looking for. Nothing new there. No one does a damn thing for anyone else in these parts.   
  
We followed up every lead we could til we found their base of operations. She wanted to go in on her own. Fine by me. I was just the gumshoe she'd hired. As long as I got paid, she could take on the whole state alone. She walked on in there like a tiger at feeding time and was gone for most of the day. Never told me what happened. I didn't care to ask. There was no kid with her though. Shame.   
  
Couple of days later the whole place went up in flames. Gas leak they said. Baloney if you ask me. She was a good kid. I hadn't seen her point a gun at anyone who didn't deserve it. If y'ask me they must have had it coming.   
  
She wasn't the same after that though. The place finally got to her. She stopped giving a damn about anything. Started looking for all kinds of trouble, and when a dame goes looking for trouble, she usually finds it. She still wanted to help people, but she got heavy-handed, got sloppy. People started getting hurt that didn't need to. This time when she left a place she usually left a body count in her wake. I didn't see much of her in those days, though I still tagged along when something needed doing or she needed back up. I knew she wouldn't last long on her own.  
  
I was right.  
  
One day she pissed off the wrong person down near Goodneighbor and that was that. Police didn't give them too much trouble about it, seems she'd been a thorn in their sides for some time.   
  
I went to her funeral. Ellie even picked up some flowers for the occasion. No one else showed. I dropped the flowers on the coffin while the minister said something half-assed about the love of man or something. It was raining. The kind of rain that made you think that God himself was trying to wash away the scum. Maybe today he'd get somewhere.


	4. Stranger than Fiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the law cracking down on the sale of booze, it's getting harder and harder to run a good, old-fashioned speakeasy. Best call a courier in to help.

They called him The Courier. If you needed something moved, he'd move it. And during the days of Prohibition  _a lot_  of people needed something moved. It put a target on his head for the authorities. He couldn't go near any of the larger towns without being searched, and they point blank wouldn't let him on the strip. They never caught him though. He was good.   
  
It had been a full three months since he'd been sighted in the vicinity of the Strip. He'd barely rolled onto Fremont Street when two upstanding officers of the law stopped his truck and had him on the sidewalk before he could say, "howdy."   
  
One of the men sighed, flicking a cigarette into the road, "we gonna do this again, Courier? Why not make my job easier and just tell us what you're running?"  
  
The Courier chuckled, "I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed, officer. Even by my standards this lot's tame."   
  
"Are you Goddamn serious?!" the other man called from the back of the truck. He'd already opened up and was now staring at the contents in open disbelief, "Bibles?!"   
  
"For the Mormon fort," the Courier explained. "Not just Bibles, I got some general stuff in there too. You know, abraxo, bottled water, think I've got some dandy boy apples in there somewhere."   
  
"You expect us to believe that you're on some kinda goodwill mission to the Mormons?"  
  
"No sir," the Courier said, his hands held up, "this is no goodwill. Mormons' gotta eat and they paid me to bring the stuff up."   
  
The officer nearest the courier was frowning. He didn't believe it. They never did.   
  
"So you wanna unload the cargo?" the Courier asked, as though the prospect didn't inconvenience him in the slightest. But then, this would hardly have been the first time it happened and entire divisions had gone over the Courier's van and been forced to let him go. "Well...if there's nothing else I'll be going." He was already climbing into the cab when the man closest to him held him back.  
  
"How about you let me drive?"  
  
The Courier slid into the passenger seat without hesitation, letting the officer take the wheel. Poking his head out of the window, the Courier called back to the other man, "give my regards to your wife, Bill! Oh and tell Margie I said hi!"  
  
The officer drove them in silence. The Courier's attempts to make conversation were unsuccessful, so he flicked the radio on and took to singing along to Bing Crosby instead. The ride was blessedly short. Parking them just outside the fort, the officer turned to the Courier, "this'll be the part where your story falls apart, huh?"  
  
In response, the Courier pointed over his shoulder at the blonde man approaching from the fort, "not today, officer."   
  
They jumped out of the cab and found the blonde man already in the back of the truck, dropping crates gently to the ground. The Courier started moving them off, "Officer, this is Dr. Gannon. He lives at the fort. Arcade, this fine officer is going to help us unload," he added happily. Arcade paused for a moment, looked the man up and down, and with a shrug handed him a crate full of Bibles. More people were coming out of the fort now, each picking up a crate and taking it back in with them. The officer dropped the crate in frustration.  
  
"Just what's your angle, Courier?"   
  
The Courier tapped his nose and winked, "the Bibles are actually covering for hard liquor, and my friend here," he gestured to Arcade, "why he's not even a Mormon. He's just hiding here in the hopes no one discovers his secretive military roots."   
  
The officer kicked the ground and with a cry of frustration stalked off. They watched him go and waited until he was completely out of sight before Arcade sighed, "did you  _have_ to tell him that?"  
  
The Courier gave another wink and took another crate, "it worked, didn't it? Truth is stranger than fiction and all that. Now let's get the rest of this stuff to the Wrangler."   
  
Arcade looked back at the truck. They'd unloaded just a handful of crates, out of about forty. Not counting the hidden shelves and false floors the Courier had installed. Arcade looked back at him, "but...what would you have done if they- you know what, forget it. You're bad enough for my blood pressure as it is."  
  
"Yeah but I'm good for other things," the Courier grinned, leaning in to kiss Arcade's cheek.   
Arcade turned his face away, "Oh shut up."


End file.
